Attack of the Sue
by Kryss LaBryn
Summary: The striking Ariella Ravenna has escaped her tragic past and come to the foot of sweet Music's throne, seeking singing lessons from the man she is sure will be her soul mate. But what will Christine do? And what will Erik say? Sequel to All Hallow's Eve.
1. Ariella Ravenna

_My regards to you, Gentle Reader, on this loveliest of holidays!  
_

_Showing here: a light-hearted look at life and love at the Palais Garnier. I have to admit, "Attack of the Sue" was only a tongue-in-cheek working title, but I really can't think of anything else in time to get this first chapter up on Valentine's Day, as I had intended. If you have a suggestion, then by all means, please let me know! _

_ The next chapter will be up in the next couple of days (provided my Internet connection doesn't go away again; it's been having some issues with water now that everything's starting to melt a bit. Ends up that one of the important bits on the antenna might not actually be waterproof...)._

_ So here you go: A nice, tasty little Valentine's Day treat for you all. Enjoy! And please, if you read, leave a review. _

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Chapter One: Ariella Ravenna 

It was after a rehearsal of _Norma_ that M Firmin Richard, one of the two managers of the opera, quietly drew me aside. "A word, Madame," he said, as the rest of the cast trailed away to lunch.

"Of course," I murmured in return.

It had not been so very long since the previous prima donna, La Carlotta, had retired from the stage; as the new leading lady, I was anxious to cooperate in any way that I could. I was not unmindful of the dislike La Carlotta had garnered with her insistence upon being treated as royalty, and her attempts to influence decisions that had nothing to do with her role as a performer, in everything from the designs of the costumes and how the lights were hung to casting decisions themselves. She had had a magnificent voice, rich and warm as honeyed brandy, but she made few friends amongst her fellow thespians.

However, M Richard seemed even more anxious than I. Or, perhaps _anxious _was not the word; he appeared almost embarrassed as he ran his hand through his hair, before driving them both deep into his coat pockets. I was torn between concern and humour over his fidgeting. "It's like this," he burst out at last, after several false starts, "There's a girl in whom one of our patrons is interested. I really can't say who he is—Oh, he's not a de Chagny, though—But he seems to think that this young woman has some potential.

"Well, to be honest, if she does _I_ can't hear it, but I can't just turn her away and risk losing—risk irritating a valued patron. So I need to find her a position here, something not too lowly, something around singers—Anyways, I'd like to make her your dresser. With your permission, of course," he hastened to add.

"I understand completely," I assured him. "What is she like?"

"Oh, she seems nice enough," he answered diffidently; "Pretty enough, I suppose, in a consumptive sort of way, and not such an idiot that she'll go and damage the costumes. More than that, I can't really say. I only met her for a few minutes. Then you'll take her on? I'm not asking you to coach her, although I'm sure she will be appropriately grateful if you should chance to share any of your knowledge…"

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and I wondered what else might be going on. However, nothing he had told me gave me any reason to refuse, and I rather supposed that it_would _be nice to have my own dresser, someone trained in the care of my costumes and make up. At the moment, I was making do with my personal maid, as La Carlotta's dresser had followed her mistress from the opera, but Abigail didn't really enjoy the task. I rather thought that she secretly disapproved of many of the more revealing costumes; the moué she'd make when she thought I wasn't looking every time she brought me Jeanne d'Arc's simple shift for the prison scenes always made me giggle. I supposed it would do no harm to accept.

"I would be happy to take her on," I told him. He looked deeply relieved. I wondered if I had made a mistake.

"Thank you, Madame!" he said, pressing my hand. "I hope it will work out well, for both of you. I'll send her over to help you get dressed this evening then, shall I?" At my nod and smile, he smiled himself and departed, a slight spring in his step.

* * *

The knock at my door was so soft that I, fighting to pull Norma's gown over my head, almost did not hear it. However, when I opened the door to check, the gown and my dignity pulled firmly into place, there indeed was a young girl standing timidly in the passage.

"La Christine?" she asked, hesitant.

"Yes," said I, standing back and beckoning her in. "You must be my new dresser."

"Yes," said she; "I'm Ariella Ravenna. I'm sorry I'm late! I couldn't find the right room..."

"No matter. It's a lovely building, but it really is difficult to find one's way about in here, isn't it?"

"It is," she hastily agreed. "And your room's so out of the way—" She clapped her hand over her mouth as if she had insulted me.

"It is," I said mildly; "I prefer the privacy. I assume that at some point I'm going to be forced to take over La Carlotta's old rooms, but frankly, I find the gilt a bit overdone." I smiled at her, and she smiled back, relieved.

As M Firmin had guessed, she did indeed make a good dresser. She was obviously inexperienced with historical costumes, but Norma's priestess robes were more bulky than complicated, and she soon had them straightened out.

I took the opportunity to unobtrusively study her in the mirror as she worked. She was a lovely girl, in a rather wan sort of way; her hair was a lustrous black; her rather too-large eyes were an unusual violet. I tried not to wince as she hummed.

"The Jewel Song is a lovely piece, isn't it?" I remarked as she laced the back of my gown.

"It's my favourite," she gushed; I caught a glimpse of her, dimpling, behind my reflection. "_Est-ce toi, Marguerite? Est-ce toi, reponds-moi__, reponds-moi_" she sang, with considerably more enthusiasm than skill.

"You have a fine voice," I fibbed; "You should not sing so far out of your range! You might do it considerable damage."

"Ah, well; I have a natural talent," she replied brightly. "I was born with it. I really am lucky to not have to fuss about with all that practicing and lessons!"

I bit my tongue before remarking, "Even so, a natural talent such as yours could only be _enhanced _by lessons. Would you not like to have a voice that could soar like—like an angel?" _Like a real singers'_, I didn't say. "And lessons would help you to expand your range…"

"Oh, I already know I'm a soprano."

"Ah. Do tell me, dear, how you know?"

Her bright eyes met mine in the mirror as she grinned. "Why, what else _would _I be? A mezzo-soprano? An_alto_? It would hardly fit, would it? I mean, I don't _look_like one of those women who can play boys so well…"

Ah. Of course. How very… Classical Greek of her. Doubtless she also believed that the exterior of a person reflected their interior; that a beautiful person could not help but be good, and an ugly person could never be anything but evil. How lucky I was that that were not so! And that Erik's beautiful voice did not reflect his own unfortunate countenance…

However, as a singer who had cut her teeth on such 'trouser roles' as Siebel, it was difficult to not feel at least a bit insulted.

"Tell me," I asked as she helped me arrange my hair, "Do you know how wide your range is?"

"Oh, I can sing anything," she assured me with another dimpled smile. "Folk tunes are my favourite; my poor mother used to sing them over me at night… Until she got sick, of course." She hesitated, her eyes reddening, and she sniffed slightly. "But I love opera, too…"

"I'm glad to hear it," said I, trying to not roll my eyes. "I know, let's try a little exercise, just for fun. Can you sing _do re mi_?"

"_Do re mi fa sol la te do?_ That one?"

"Yes, just like that! Start with the lowest note you can sing as the _do_, and then keep going, over and over, as high as you can. Like this," and I sang a quick three octaves.

"All right," and she sang, from as low as she could force her voice to as high, "_Do re mi fa sol la te do re mi faa--_" and her voice cracked.

"That's very good for someone with no training," said I, and she blushed prettily. "And you could probably do more with a proper warm-up. You can sing just over an octave right now, but with training, you might be able to reach as many as three! But it'll take hard work…"

"Oh, that's all right! The Ghost will teach me," and she bit her lip as if she'd said too much.

Myself, I was flabbergasted. Did she really think—What in Heaven's name even made her think he would—Where on earth did she even get the idea that the Opera Ghost ever gave out lessons?

"The Opera Ghost, dear?" and I forced a laugh, "What makes you think that he gives singing lessons, of all things? Surely you've heard talk of the Ghost; he's hardly known for his generous nature!"

"Mme Giry considers him _extremely _generous," she blurted; _"And_he arranged for Meg to be the leader of her row! She's going to marry the Emperor some day; Mme Giry said so! And I've heard that he gives lessons to some of the chorus members. I'm _sure _if he hears me he'll agree to teach me!"

Ah, Rumour. I wondered where it had started, though? _I_ most certainly had not spoken of my lessons to anyone, save Raoul. Had _he _started tongues wagging? I did not think he would have done so, but… "Singing lessons? To the _chorus_? Are you quite sure of that, dear? Wherever did you hear of such a thing?"

"Oh," and she blushed again, "A friend of my best friend's older brother told me. One of the other students at the University knew all about the Ghost, and told him all about it."

"Oh? Do you know his name?"

"Who, the Ghost's?" She laughed a little.

"No, dear; the student's."

"Um… I'm not sure. Jean Something, I think—Or was it Jacques? Yes, Jacques Claudin, that was it."

Oh. Jean Claudin. The man who had kidnapped me, and tried to kill Erik. "And he said the Ghost gave singing lessons?"

"Yes! Oh, I can't wait to meet him..! He's a real man, you know, who hides his face behind a hideous mask. Oh, I know they say that he's deformed himself, but I'm sure it can't be _that _bad. And I just _know _he'll fall in love with me, too…"

"Fall in love with you?_ Too_?" I echoed stupidly.

She blushed yet again. "Well, I know it sounds silly, but… Well, ever since I first heard of him, I've felt a… a _connection _with him. Oh, I know he'll feel it too! We're destined to be together, I'm sure of it! Why, it's just like Nana Vadoma told me…"

"And what did she say, dear?"

"Well, she took me in after my mother d-died, and my father w-went m-mad--" She gave a huge sob, then collected herself. "But she was very kind to me! I travelled all over France with her and the rest of the gypsies, and down into Spain—I used to sing and dance, while the men played their music, to help earn my keep. It was only Uncle Tobar that I had to watch out for, if he'd been drinking…" She trailed off morosely for a moment, before adding brightly, "But it was Nana who told me to come here!"

"Here? To the Palais Garnier?"

"'To the foot of sweet music's throne,' she told me. And she told me that I would meet the man of my dreams here, and that I'd know him by the way he hid his face from me…" She sighed happily, twirling a lock of hair about one perfect, slender finger. "I know just what he looks like. Strong, mysterious, dashing…" She trailed off with a dreamy sigh.

Oh, dear. Well, I doubted that I needed to worry about her luring Erik away from me; even if he was tempted to stray (which I doubted with all my heart), the poor girl would doubtless faint from shock were she ever to actually see the _real_Ghost face to face! But I couldn't really leave her unattended to wander about looking for the Ghost; who knew what sort of trouble she'd manage to get into? The opera house was a vast and complicated structure, more like a small city than a simple theatre…

As she shook herself out of her daydream and finished dressing my hair, I silently resolved to see what arrangements I could make. After all, it wasn't her fault that I found her rather grating. Besides, it sounded as though she'd had a rather hard life; I was sure she deserved to find happiness as much as anyone.

I would have to see what I could do.

* * *

_[A/N: You can read about Christine and Erik's adventure with M. Claudin in "All Hallow's Eve", the sequel to "Through A Mirror, Darkly"._


	2. Potential

_Here you go, Gentle Reader! Chapter Two!_

_I tried really hard to get it up here yesterday, but my Internet connection is still being flaky. I will try very hard to have each additional chapter posted the next day, but with my connection having problems with weather right now, it might be a short delay before I can post it._

_In any case, here's the next chapter. Enjoy! And thank you for the kind reviews!!! _

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Chapter Two: Potential

"Who is that strange woman you have lurking about you these days?" Erik greeted me. He'd slipped into my dressing room shortly after Ariella left, my costumes for the evening bundled in her arms, to be washed of sweat and makeup and the grime of the stage in preparation for tomorrow's performance. "Is that your new dresser?"

"It is," said I, coming into his arms and lifting my face for a kiss. He willingly doffed his black silk mask and obliged. "But I'm afraid that she has some rather curious fancies about the Ghost…" I added, reluctantly parting from him.

"Oh?" A wisp of an eyebrow raised in dry inquiry. "Dare I ask?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "It's probably better if you don't," I confessed.

"Then I shall follow your sage advice and curb my tongue, for now. Perhaps."

"In any case, she rather wants to be a singer."

"Really? Why?"

"Oh, the glamorous lifestyle, I assume..." I said playfully, only too mindful of the long lessons he insisted I keep daily. "You know, dining on lobster and bonbons while crowds of adoring men worship at one's feet..."

"I refuse to dignify any of that nonsense with a reply," he said stiffly as I giggled. "You certainly are in a cheerful mood this evening," he added.

"It's because of Norma," I said. "After going through all that if I don't laugh I'll start crying. You don't think I'm too young for the role, do you?" He helped me into my wrap as I added, "I feel I should be playing Adalgisa instead..."

"It's opera, Christine. The voice is all. When the audience can watch a large Spanish woman play a petite Oriental with a straight face, I'm sure they'll forgive you your youth. So long as you can sing the role properly. I can help you look older, if that would help," he added. "But from so far away I doubt very much they'll care."

"Thank you _very _much," said I, rolling my eyes at him as we departed through the mirror. "But if you want a wife your own age you'll have to look elsewhere." I had no doubt that he _could _make me up to look like an aging druidess, but to be honest, as much as I worried about _being _too young for the role, I was in no hurry to _look _old enough for the role.

"Oh, don't worry. The men out there would rather watch a pretty young woman pretending to be old than an old one pretending to be young; I am no different. Come; it's a chilly night. I want to get you home and warm."

I took his arm and allowed him to lead me up the passage to the Rue Scribe.

"You know, I've been thinking," I said to him later that evening, suddenly closing my book. "About Ariella."

"Who?"

"Ariella. You know. My dresser."

"What about her?"

"Well, about how she wants to be a singer. M Firmin said he couldn't hear any potential, but I thought that perhaps..." I trailed off.

"If I perhaps _what?_" Erik asked suspiciously, snapping his own book shut and turning to give me an intent look.

"Well, perhaps if _you _heard her sing, you could tell me if she has any potential."

"You don't trust Firmin's judgement?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Well, it's not that, so much..."

"What about your own? _Does _she have any talent?"

"Well, probably not, but--"

"Then why would I waste my time?" He turned back to his book.

"I'd just... like to help her." I said, a bit lamely.

The book closed. Erik gave me a long, level stare before sighing. "All right, out with it," he said. "Why the interest in helping someone with no apparent chance of a career? Wait-- This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with her 'curious fancies', would it?"

"In a way, I suppose... Perhaps..."

"You had better tell me."

"Well..." I fidgeted, suddenly wishing I hadn't raised the topic. "She seems to think that the Ghost goes around teaching members of the chorus to sing."

"Really. And where did she pick up _that _particular gem?"

"Well, I gather she got it from Jean Claudin. Indirectly, of course."

"_Really_." Erik was silent a long moment.

"There's more... I'm not sure if it really matters, though."

"Tell me."

"Well, she sort of thinks that... Well..." Erik raised an eyebrow at my discomfiture. "She thinks that the Ghost will fall in love with her."

His other eyebrow joined the first, but other than that he made no motion.

"She, er... Apparently the old gypsy woman who raised her told her that she'd find love at the Paris Opera with, er, with a masked man."

"And I suppose that she knows the Ghost is a man, thanks to Claudin."

I nodded.

"And _he _thought I just _painted _my face..."

"She expects the Ghost to be rather handsome."

He grinned suddenly and a bit nastily. "In for a shock, isn't she?"

"Um..."

"But why on earth do you want _me _to listen to her? I'd think you'd want to encourage her to seek employment elsewhere. Preferably in China."

"I suppose that, if she really doesn't have any talent, it might be easier to... to..."

"To point out her shortcomings as a future diva and send her packing?"

"I'd be nicer than that, but yes."

"It would at least be tidier than strangling her... Of course, it might be more painful."

"Erik!"

"No, I meant more painful for _me_..." He sighed again. "Take her out to the stage at the end of the day tomorrow, and I'll have a listen."

I allowed him to return to his book.


	3. The Audition

_Back to Ariella for this chapter! And introducing someone you might find faintly familiar... ;-)_

_ Enjoy! _

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Chapter Three: The Audition 

I stopped Ariella the next evening as she gathered my costumes up to leave. "Wait a moment, Ariella. I'd like you to try something with me."

"Yes, Madame?"

"I'd like you to try some warm-ups with me."

"If you wish. But I don't really need them, you know…"

I tried to not roll my eyes as I answered, "Ariella, _everyone_ needs to warm up their voice before they sing. If they don't, not only is their potential range greatly reduced, they can seriously damage their vocal chords."

"I_ suppose_ that might be true for _opera_, especially for people without natural talent, but folk songs--"

"_Any_ song." She really was making it _extremely_ difficult for me to remember that I had wanted to help her to sound her best. "I knew a very popular folk singer in Brittany years ago, when I was a child. There was a festival… They wouldn't let him stop singing. All week long, everywhere he went, everyone kept clamouring for one more song. And he obliged them. And he didn't warm up first." I paused, remembering the tanner. "I did my best to help him; I made him hot teas with honey, but his voice never recovered. When I last saw him, years later, he _still_ sounded as if he had swallowed a rasp."

She looked away, contrite, it seemed. I hoped that I had made an impression.

"In any case, I want you to sound your best. And _everyone_ sounds better after they've warmed up."

"Sound my best? For what?" Her eyes lit up.

"Well… It's said," I lied, "That if you stand on stage when everyone else has gone, and sing to the empty house, the Ghost will listen to you. Consider it an audition."

She laughed and clapped her hands like a child at Christmas. "And then he'll take me on as his student; I _know_ he will! Oh, Madame, thank you _so much!_"

I was rather afraid that she would hug me in her enthusiasm, but she managed to restrain herself to jumping around the room. "Settle down, then," I said; "We don't want to keep him waiting!"

I did my best to guide her through simple warm-ups before she lost patience after half an hour. I persuaded her to keep going for another ten minutes or so by pointing out that the longer we took, the emptier the theatre would be, and the more likely it would be that the Ghost would be lurking about. But finally even I had to admit that she sounded as good as she was going to that evening, and led her back to the stage.

The theatre and auditorium were dim; only the ghost light lit the stage. She shivered slightly when I told her its name. "Is it… for _him?_" she whispered.

I chuckled. "It's to keep the light of the arts shining forever—and to prevent people from tripping over the set," I replied. "Here, stand here. That's right."

"Where should I sing to?" she asked, looking up at the flies above us.

"Sing to the auditorium," I advised. "That will give you the best acoustics."

"But what if he's up in the catwalks?"

"Why would he be up in the catwalks?" I asked, puzzled. "It's a bit exposed for a ghost, don't you think?"

She blushed prettily. "I suppose… I just thought…" She trailed away.

"He's the Ghost; he could be _anywhere_," I said. "Sing to the auditorium." I backed away to leave her alone on the stage.

"What shall I do?" She looked a bit panicky. "How should I start? What should I say?"

"Don't say anything. Just sing."

Slightly hesitant, she turned back to the auditorium, nervously smoothed her dress and hair, and sang.

She started with an old Romany song. I recognised the tune; Erik played it for me occasionally. Her voice was untrained, but had a sweet, lilting air that, I had to admit, rather suited the song. When she finished, she sang a song I had heard the stagehands sing upon occasion; unfortunately her voice and fragile air were less suited to the rather bawdy lyrics. However, I supposed I had to applaud the enthusiasm she brought to it. I suspected she had included it to show her range; it certainly was not one _I_ would have chosen to woo a man who dwelt in an opera!

She finished with an attempt at the Jewel Song from Faust. Behind her and in the dark as I was, I made no attempt to hide my wince. She really_would_ end up damaging her voice if she persisted in singing beyond her abilities.

When she had finished, she curtsied, and stood, waiting, apparently, in a somewhat awkward silence. "What now?" she whispered over her shoulder to me.

"Now, we go," I replied, with a quick glance around. There was no sign of movement.

"But… he didn't come!" she almost wailed.

"What makes you think that? He's the _Ghost_; did you think he would walk up to you and applaud?"

"I thought… I thought that he might give me some sort of a sign. You know. Of his approval."

Reluctantly she turned and we left the stage. "What kind of a sign?" I asked.

"Oh, you know." She twirled a lock around her finger, embarrassed, perhaps. "Like a rose. With a black ribbon, so I'd know it was him…"

"You've thought all this out rather carefully, haven't you?"

"Well…" It was hard to tell in the dim lighting of the backstage corridors, but I suspected she was blushing.

"Well, never mind. I rather suspect that if he _does_ contact you, it won't be when you're expecting it." I paused, and glanced around. The corridor seemed deserted, but for us; but the opera really _was_ more like a small city than a theatre; it was never_truly_ empty. Still… "Ariella, if I may make a suggestion…"

"Yes, Madame?"

"Don't tell anyone what you know. About the Ghost, I mean. If you're correct, if he truly _is_ a real man and not a ghost, then he won't like you talking about him. He wouldn't like you giving away any of his secrets."

She swallowed. "That's what Bruno said," she confided. "My friend's brother's friend. You know. He said…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He said that they found Claudin's body in the cellars. _He_ said that he had probably been snooping around where he wasn't wanted, and that I should watch my back."

Excellent advice, I thought.

"But I_know_ he wouldn't _really_ have killed him. Claudin probably just slipped and fell. Or if he did, then—then he probably deserved it."

He did deserve it, I remembered, still shaky when I thought of just how close he had come to killing us both. But that didn't lessen the tragedy of the man's untimely death.

"You know, he was probably really mean to the chorus girls…" Ariella was saying.

I stopped. "Did you just say that if he had been mean to them, he would have deserved to _die?_" I was horrified.

"Well, you know… If he was always leering at them… Perhaps he… Perhaps he had grabbed one of them, or something…" She trailed off under my shocked stare.

"Ariella," I said, slowly and carefully, "There is _nothing_ that can justify taking someone's life. There are times when it must be done to preserve one's own, I'm sure, but you cannot seriously believe that a man who behaved like a cad would truly deserve to die!"

Tears welled in her violet eyes as her face crumpled. "You don't understand! You could _never_ understand him! I should have known better than to tell you anything—You're horrid!" She whirled and dashed off down the hallway.

_Dash_ it all! Honestly, how could anyone be so _stupid_? I could only hope that in her ever-so-tragic love for a man who didn't exist, she would at least see the sense in keeping her mouth shut.

Drat. I didn't wish to leave my door unlocked, but I couldn't leave my costumes in the hallway. If she didn't come by in the morning to deal with them they would never be ready for the evening's performance! I decided to leave her a note on the door instructing her as to what time she could pick them up in the morning.

I was just pinning it up when one of the stagehands approached. "Excuse me, Madame, he said, nervously twisting his hat in his hands. "Might I have a word? If you have time, of course; I know it's late…"

"Gerard, isn't it?" He grinned at my recognition. I recognized him; most of the chorus girls had been deeply aware of him. He was a handsome man, with strong limbs and a deep tan, despite the hours spent indoors at the Opera. The jagged scar that seamed his right cheek, a souvenir of an unfortunate backstage accident several years before, only added to his roguish charm. To be perfectly frank, he had always reminded me of nothing so much as a good-natured pirate. His habit of leaving his shirt open as he worked the ropes and pulleys that shifted the massive set pieces about the stage completed the illusion. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, Madame, it's about your dresser. You know. Ariella."

"Yes?" I asked cautiously.

"I was wondering if you knew… Does she have a beau?"

I was not quite sure how to answer that. "Why do you ask?"

"Well… Well, she's very pretty, and… I thought that perhaps, if she didn't have one…"

I couldn't help but grin. He had never struck me as the type to be shy, I had to admit. I took a closer look at him. Rather dashing, scarred but not unattractive… He might be just the thing. _If_ he would be good to her. "How serious are you about her?" I asked.

"Very," he answered gravely. "She's so… so beautiful, and delicate, and her voice is so lovely…"

"Would you make an honest woman of her?"

"I would."

"Where would you live?" Heavens, I sounded like her mother! But I couldn't, in all good conscience, simply send her away with just anyone, although, for the life of me, I was having trouble remembering just why not…

"Well, if she agreed, I'd thought we could move back to the town I grew up in. My father was a carpenter; I could make a decent living for us."

"Then I think I might be able to help you win her. But you'll have to follow my instructions to the _letter_," I told him with a smile.

* * *

_A/N: The anecdote of the singer who ratched his voice out permanently in a week is true; it happened to a guy I know. It was Ricolo's I brought him, not honeyed tea, but it didn't help. It's a shame; he used to have a wonderful mellow voice. Now even when he's just talking he sounds like he's about to start hacking up a lung. Also, I disagree with Christine about **no one** deserving to die (for example, I used to work with the older sister of the best friend of one of Clifford Olson's victims. I know **exactly** what he did to her. I also met one of his prison guards, who apparently did **not** know details: he said that CO was a very nice person, and would we all be so quick to say he deserved to die if we had to pull the trigger ourselves? Know what? He **needs** to die. And yes, I would happily kill him myself). But for being mean? Come on. Alas, that's too often used in Bad!phics to justify Buquet and Piangi's deaths in the movie. Like they say, though, the opinions in this piece may not reflect blah blah blah._


	4. The Plan

_Ah, the plot thickens, Gentle Reader!_

_Keep those cards and letters coming! Okay, just the reviews, then, heh... _

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Chapter four: The Plan 

"Adele's going to kill us for being in here without her permission, you know," mentioned Gerard helpfully as we wound our way through the costume racks.

"Then we had best be very quick and very quiet, wouldn't you say?" I was hard-pressed to hide my nervousness; he was quite correct. The costume mistress was an absolute dragon in defence of her charges. She brandished a huge wooden yardstick almost as a badge of office, and there were few of the petite rats of the ballet who had not felt its sting when they stole into her territory to play dress-up. They were all terrified of her, but the regalia of all the kings and queens of the ages proved an irresistible lure.

Realizing that my shoulders were hunched against an expected blow, I consciously tried to straighten them, and stand erect, but it was difficult. I walked a little faster instead.

"What is it that we're looking for in here?" asked Gerard.

"Well, an old gypsy woman told her that she'd fall in love with a masked man at the Opera, apparently."

"Ah! So I am to be that man, eh?" His teeth gleamed as he grinned.

"Yes, but you can't be just any man in a mask. Have you any ambitions to the stage?"

He laughed. "Not particularly, although I fancy I could give it a good go, so long as I didn't have to sing. I am playing a particular role, then?"

"Yes. Ah! Here we go…" We had reached the racks of masks that hung all along one long wall.

"I see! What kind of a mask are we looking for?" He held a mask like a frightful lion to his face. "Am I to be the enchanted prince in disguise?"

"Not quite. Actually… You're going to be the Ghost."

"What ghost—Wait, the _Opera_ Ghost?" He scoffed loudly. "That's absurd!"

I frantically shushed him. "Not so loud! I know, I know; but, well, she has an idea that he's, well…"

"What? A man? Where'd she get an idiotic idea like that? That idiot from the university?"

"Indirectly, yes…"

Gerard made a rude noise. "Henri caught that idiot whistling backstage during a rehearsal, did you know? Luckily he clapped him in the back of the head and stopped him before anyone was hurt." His eyes flashed as he recalled. "Luckily there wasn't supposed to be anything happening at the moment; we were just arguing over what it meant when Henri caught him. We could have dropped a fly right onto someone, the idiot."

"Yes, he mentioned that to my husband and I," I said absently, remembering the start of that terrible night. "That it was a silly superstition, I mean."

"That's right," Gerard said slowly, looking at me a bit strangely, "You two were the last ones to see him, weren't you? Alive, I mean…"

"Yes, we were," I said, masking my sudden panic with a veil of irritation. "He dragged us down into the cellars, turned out the lantern, and told us to wait. He wandered off to prove some idiotic point or other, and left us there in the dark!" The lie that Erik had insisted I practice rose as easily to my lips now as any other script. "It took us ages to get back to the party. We were both quite fed up, I can tell you."

"I can imagine," said Gerard. "The idiot probably fell into the lake and broke his neck. It's happened before."

"Probably," I agreed, searching the masks. "Ah! Here we are. Try this on."

Gerard took the scrap of white leather but looked at it doubtfully. "It doesn't look anything like a skull," he said, "And there's hardly anything to it! What's the point?"

"Well, we don't want to frighten her off," I said sweetly, "And with only half your face covered, she'll still be able to see how handsome you are. Go on, try it on."

He slid it on; the leather moulded itself to his face. "How do I look?" he asked, his green eyes flashing with amusement. "Do I look like the Ghost's death's head, or his flaming one?"

I bit back a giggle. "It fits very well," I said.

"Yes, but how do I _look_?"

"You look very nice. I'm sure she'll love it."

He rolled his eyes as he doffed it. "You mean, _You look like a complete git, Gerard_," he said, stuffing it inside his shirt.

"Well, the clothes don't really go with it…"

"No, they don't." He looked down at his rough linen shirt and scruffy trousers appraisingly.

A clatter and cursing in the distance made us jump. "Oh, God! It's her!" I whispered, in genuine terror.

"Don't worry; you're with the Opera Ghost," said Gerard with a grin. "Plus, you're the prima donna. You're perfectly safe. Ask about your costumes or something."

"All right," I said, drew a steadying breath, squared my shoulders, and headed for the door.

"How many times have I told you little—Oh, beg pardon, Madame," said Adele, lowering her yardstick. Gerard was right; she wouldn't strike me, at least, although she did look disgruntled. "It's very early for any of the performers to be about; I wasn't expecting you. What do you need?"

"I was wondering about my costume," I said, trying to ignore her brusqueness. "Ariella wasn't able to collect it last night, and I wanted to make sure it got here all right."

"Haven't seen it. It's probably still in your dressing room. What's that big lout in here for?"

"Oh! Er…"

"Madame asked me to help her carry it."

"Right." She eyed us suspiciously. "Hadn't you better go and see if it's still in your dressing room, before you come poking around back here? And never mind about him; I'll send one of my girls with you._Farina_!" she called, moving away and muttering, "And her a married woman…"

Oh, dear. "She thinks… She thinks that we…" I was horrified. "I would_never_..!" The gossip mill would have it all over the theatre by sundown!

"I know, I know." He said soothingly. "Come on, let's get out of here."

I was suddenly and simultaneously furious and deeply terrified. I was furious with Ariella, with her silly delusions and idiotic fantasies, and I was deeply, mortally terrified that Erik might not believe me when I told him that it was a misunderstanding. He was waiting for me to come to my senses and leave him, I was sure of it, no matter what I said or did. I would have to tell him about it myself, before he somehow found out about the costume mistress's error from someone else, but how could I ease his fears without raising his suspicions? Perhaps I shouldn't tell him anything at all—But even though he no longer dwelt in the cellars, he still somehow kept uncannily up-to-date on the opera's doings…

"Just win her and get her out of here," I muttered to his back.

* * *

Ariella returned in time to help me dress again for the evening's performance, but she said as little as possible and kept her eyes averted. I couldn't decide if she was feeling apologetic or put upon, and I was growing weary of trying to sort it out. Truth to tell, I was feeling a bit put out myself. She had _not_ returned for my costume, and only extreme measures by Adele had made it both clean and dry. She had huffed, when she had returned it, that were it not white and showing every bit of grime, I would be wearing it as it was, smelly and dirty, and if I wanted my costumes cleaned in time in the future, I would have to make sure that they got to her right after each performance. It might be my dresser's job, but they were_my_ costumes.

She was still grumbling as I gently closed my door behind her. I suspected, rather wretchedly, that I had managed, in one fell stroke, to completely lose all her respect. I hoped I hadn't made an enemy.

In any case, after risking my marriage and my standing on her behalf, I was in no temper for her moodiness. We worked in silence.

To my faint surprise, however, as I entered my room again after the performance, having exchanged pleasantries with the well-wishers in the corridor, she was there waiting for me. I had half-expected that she would have handed in her resignation, or at least asked to be reassigned elsewhere, but she stood in the middle of my floor, smiling hugely, and with an air of barely-suppressed excitement. I wondered what had happened.

"Madame! Madame, you were right! I heard him!"

"What? Heard who?" I sat at my table and began to pull pins from my hair.

"I heard… _him_!" she almost whispered. "I was walking along past the wings, when I suddenly heard a voice, right next to me!"

"Really? Who was it?"

"It was_him_! I looked all around, but there wasn't anyone there!"

"Really." I wondered if Gerard had hid himself behind one of the curtains. In the shadows of those large black velvet swaths, someone standing quite still was all but invisible, especially when one's eyes were dazzled by the lights from the stage. And there was plenty of room to stand behind one of them, and still be invisible to the audience… "And what did the voice say?"

She clasped her hands to her breast. "He said… He said, 'You sing like an angel!' " She looked ready to swoon with delight. I once again found myself struggling to not roll my eyes.

"Well! That's a good thing, then. I'm very happy for you," I said, instead. "Do help me with these laces, would you please?"

"Oh! Yes, of course, Madame." She started to unlace the gown, but paused, her face dreamy. "He has such a wonderful, deep, gravely voice…"

"I have no doubt he will prove to be the very epitome of manliness," I said dryly.

"Well, of course he will be," she said, coming back down to earth and resuming her work. "I wonder what his name is…"

"I never thought of it," I confessed. "He's always just been 'the Ghost' to us."

"But he's _real_!"

"There are few here who _don't_ believe in the Ghost." I wiggled free of the gown.

"Yes, I know; but I mean he's really real! Really, truly, touchably there…" She sighed happily. I rolled my eyes.

"You did only hear a voice, you know," I pointed out, unable to help myself. "How do you know it was from a living man and not a ghost after all?"

"Oh, I know…" and her eyes gleamed. "He's real. And I shall marry him!"

"Well, I wish the two of you all the best in the world," I said, and shooed her out the door, my costume bundled in her arms. I could only hope that it reached Adele before she melted into a little puddle in one of the corridors.

Feeling slightly better, I made haste to finish dressing and return to my _own_ Opera Ghost. Helping Gerard might not be as difficult as I had feared, after all!

* * *

_A/N: It's bad luck to whistle in a theatre, and has been for centuries. There is a perfectly rational reason for it, though: before radios were used to communicate, scene shifts were signalled with a bosun's whistle. So if someone was whistling, especially backstage, the running crew might mistake it for the signal to move the next piece of scenery onto the stage._

_When the piece of scenery in question might weight upwards of several hundred pounds, you can see why having it suddenly appear, unscheduled, on the stage without warning might be very bad luck, indeed..._


	5. Sweet Seduction

_Enjoy, Dear Reader! And please, if you do (or if you don't), leave a review! _

* * *

Chapter Five: Sweet Seduction

"Psst! Madame!" Gerard's attempt to speak quietly while still attracting my attention made his voice sound so strangled that I almost didn't recognise it. "Over here!"

I followed his voice around behind one of the long black velvet curtains near the back of the wings. "What is it, Gerard?" I whispered back. "I have to be on again in a minute… Where are you?" I could see nothing in the off-stage dimness.

A shadow separated itself from the inky darkness; Gerard turned to face me. "Not bad, eh?" he grinned, spreading his arms wide.

"Not bad at all!" I grinned back. He was now swathed, head to foot, in a long black cape; with his dark hair and his back to me, he had been completely invisible. Facing me, however, the white mask glimmered eerily in the reflected glow of the stage lights, and complemented the dress suit he wore beautifully. "That's perfect, Gerard! You're the perfect mysterious gentleman. You just need a hat…"

"Pfft!" He waved the comment away. "I don't need a hat; she'll never see me outside. In any case, it messes my hair up. I couldn't take it off without bits pulling up from under the mask's ties; I looked like a scarecrow."

"Best to leave it off, then," I agreed. "But I have to go, Gerard…"

"Oh! Yes. Just a moment more. I just wanted to show you—to, er, get your opinion. You know. On the outfit."

"You look very dashing," I assured him.

He gave me his pirate's grin again. "I also wanted to ask you to keep her with you for a while after the performance. Just, you know, until everyone's gone, and the corridors'll be empty. I have this for her," and he produced a single red rose from the depths of his cloak. "I don't want anyone else picking it up."

"Perfect! She'll love it!" I grinned. A sudden recollection made me add, "But tie a black ribbon around the stem! You know, in a bow. So she knows it's from you."

"Right." He hesitated a moment. "Silk or velvet?"

"Silk. Definitely."

"Right. Um. I think that's your cue, Madame…"

_Drat!_ He grinned again as I dashed back to make my entrance, desperately trying to remember my first line. Erik would _not_ be impressed. I was in for a severe tongue-lashing, I was sure.

* * *

I'm sure it didn't help his temper that I kept Ariella with me for so long, adjusting and readjusting everything I could think of: my corset laces, my hair, my hat… I delayed as long as I could, for my own sake as well as Gerard's. I was _not_ looking forward to the well-deserved dressing-down I was bound to receive. Of course, keeping him hanging around, silently fuming as he waited for me, would not help at all, either.

As I expected, the door was barely closed behind her before he burst into the room, easily as furious as I had anticipated. I tried not to shrink. This was not my gentle, loving husband; this was the avenging angel. This was my tutor.

"Oh, don't cringe like that!" he snapped at me as he crossed the room to lock the door to the corridor. "I'm not going to beat you—although Heaven knows I should after a performance like that! What on earth were you thinking?"

He didn't wait to see what I might try to say—for which I was grateful, as I hadn't yet come up with anything—but continued on as I meekly bowed my head and tried to look as sheepish as I felt. "Really, Christine; this is _Norma!_ It's one of the most difficult roles ever written! And you _are_ young for the role; it is a _triumph_ that you perform it so well! But after tonight's little debacle, people are going to start whispering that it has all been chance, that it has all been just good luck and good patronage that has gotten you where you are today. They're going to think that you _can't sing it_, Christine, that you really _are_ just a trumped-up chorus girl!"

I bit my lip and stared at the floor as he continued. They wouldn't _really_ think that, would they? Perhaps I _was_ just a trumped-up chorus girl. He was right. I had been given a golden opportunity to prove that I was everything that we had claimed, and, thanks to my stupid, idiotic game of pairing up some silly little girl with someone who didn't even exist, the costume mistress thought I was having an affair, and probably hated me for being just like Carlotta, and my husband thought that I had been dreadful, and the managers would realize what a dreadful mistake they had made in allowing someone so young to be their lead singer, and I would be sacked, and my career would be over before it had even begun…

Suddenly Erik's arms were about me as I gasped and sobbed, burying my face in his shirtfront. "I'm sorry!" I cried. "I know I was dreadful! I never meant to let you down! I just allowed myself to be distracted, and then I missed my cure, and then I couldn't remember my line when I entered, and then _that_ threw me off…" I clutched him tighter as I wept, and he smoothed my hair, shushing me. "You're right, I _should_ have been more professional… And now they're going to fuh-fuh-_fire_ me..!"

He actually chuckled at that, and pulled back a bit, lifting my face with a finger. "No one's going to fire you," he said, wiping my tears with his thumb. "You _were_ dreadful in the third act—but I doubt anyone else in this… place would have noticed. People come here to be seen, not to listen. _Luckily for you_." He sighed. "But I would _never_ allow them to just sack you; you should know that by now. O.G. still has _some_ small influence with the managers here…"

I took a shuddering breath. "Thank you. But I don't want to be here just because you made them take me…"

"They auditioned you _themselves_, remember. They made that decision to offer you the position of Carlotta's understudy without any prompting from _me_. _I_ merely suggested that they give you a listen. You earned that place _yourself_, just as you have earned Norma." He sighed again. "I just don't want to see you throw it all away with a moment's inattention…"

I hugged him close, unspeakably grateful for his comforting words. "I'm sorry, Erik," I murmured. "I really will pay more attention in the future, I promise."

"Well, never mind. You did warn me what Norma did to you. I shouldn't have chastised you like that straight off." He paused a moment, and then added, "I'll tell you what: if you give me cause to do so again, I'll wear a red clown's nose while I'm doing it. Would that help?"

Overcome by the ridiculous image, what could I then do but laugh?

* * *

In the brougham on the way home, however, he turned to me. "What, then, was so absorbing that you allowed it to distract you so?" he asked mildly. I blushed.

"It really wasn't anything very important, just ill-timed," I said, embarrassed.

"Ah. More of that nonsense with your dresser then, I assume." At my slightly guilty nod he added, "Hasn't he managed to get under her skirts yet? I always gathered that he was considered quite a handsome man."

Slightly flustered by his unusual coarseness, I said, "Well, he has to do this properly. It's no good him just falling into her arms; she has to feel that she's luring him away from his life here. If he seems too eager then she might suspect that he isn't a secretive Ghost after all…"

"And we don't want _that_," he finished, and actually shuddered. "Heaven forbid she then comes looking for _me!_"

I couldn't resist pointing out, "She's very pretty. And young."

"She's a complete twit," he retorted, "And she sounds like a cat in heat. In my younger days I wouldn't have even bothered finding her a substitute; I'd just have allowed her to find _me_." He grinned the slightly nasty grin again. "I must be getting old…"

"You must be." At his dark glance I added, "There's still some lingering doubts over Claudin's death, I suspect. I'd rather not have any more suspicious deaths linked to me, _if_ you don't mind. And besides, _you_ aren't the one finding her a substitute; _I_ am. And _I_ don't think that being annoying is an acceptable excuse for murder." I crossed my arms.

"_Very_ annoying."

"Very, _very_ annoying. Even so." I raised my chin, but couldn't stop my lip from twitching. "Even if it _is_ tempting, sometimes."

"_Very_ tempting."

"Very, _very_ tempting." I grinned at him.

"Well then, if I can't get rid of her _my_ way, I'll just have to help you get rid of her _your_ way, I suppose." His chin dropped to his chest, but his eyes were fierce with determination. "What he needs is a _lair_…"

* * *

"Oh, my goodness, Gerard; it's perfect!" I stared around me in astonishment, as he grinned proudly and swept a low bow, the long black cloak swirling around him dramatically. "However did you find time to do all this?"

What had apparently, a mere week or so before, been an empty prop room, abandoned to the must and the rats after a leak in the hydraulics had destroyed most of the contents, had been transformed into something worthy of the Arabian Nights. Long gauzy curtains hid the stained stone walls, and a multitude of candles threw glimmering golden light over every surface. Answering gleams shone back from the gilt of a pipe organ, remnant of an ambitious staging of a wedding. "It doesn't work, of course," he confided, running a hand over the ornate curves. "But I just couldn't resist. I am the _Opera_ Ghost, after all. I shall borrow some sheet music to leave scattered about, and she'll never know the difference."

"And where on earth did you find _this_?" I asked, pulling aside another of the endless curtains to reveal a swan bed, piled high with cushions. "I don't remember ever seeing a bed like this in anything…"

"That's because it _isn't_ a bed," he grinned. "It was the boat they used for Titania a few years back, do you remember?"

"It's a _boat_?" I grinned. "Won't it feel all… you know, all lumpy? From the bracing inside?"

"Not with this many cushions. It's actually quite comfortable. Give it a try."

"No, thank you," I murmured, suddenly aware of how highly inappropriate my presence there, alone with him, was. "How did you get rid of the smell of the rats?" I asked, changing the subject. "And why is it so smoky in here?"

"Ah. The answer to that is one and the same, Madame. Incense," and he swept aside another of the gently swaying curtains to reveal a large censer. Even as I watched, faint tendrils of smoke slowly wafted from the myriad small holes to join the growing haze.

"You don't think you might be overdoing it a bit, do you?" I asked, waving my hand in a vain attempt to clear the air. "I'm beginning to feel a bit off…"

"Come on, then; we should probably get you outside where the air's a bit clearer. To be honest," he added as he took my arm and steered me through the maze of gauze, "I can't get the damned thing to go out. There's too much in there to just pinch out, and when I tried to smother it with a cushion it just scorched it. It took me forever to get the smell of singed sheep out of here…"

"Why don't you just douse it with water?" I asked. My head felt clearer in the cool, earthy air of the cellars, but I could feel the beginnings of a headache behind my eyes.

"Oh. Well. That would put it out," he admitted, somewhat sheepishly, as he thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, "But it would also ruin it, and I can't afford any more."

"How much did you put in?" I asked as we began the walk back to the more populated areas.

"All of it. I guess about ten cones…"

"_Ten_ cones..! Gerard, _one_ would have been _more_ than enough for a room that size!"

"Well, it looked so small in the burner. You saw the size of the thing. And it let off so little smoke, that I just kept adding them until it was too late. Frankly," he paused and leaned against the wall, "It might never go out. And even if it did, it would take me a week to get all the smoke cleared out… Frankly, I'm surprised the bottom didn't burn through."

"Well, just be careful. You don't want to set all that gauze on fire!"

"It's silk," he shrugged, "And the walls are stone. I don't think we need to worry."

"Well, you still don't want to have the firemen coming about."

"There's that." He scuffed a toe over a rough spot in the floor before asking, a bit too casually, "So, how's Ariella? Has she said anything?"

"Ariella," I said, a bit dryly, "hardly remembers to breathe these days. You've certainly got her wound up with those roses! She's collected them into a bouquet, did you know? There must be almost a dozen of them."

"There's been nine so far," said Gerard, a slightly distant look in his eye. "The twelfth I shall deliver in person, I think. Oh, don't look at me like that, Madame! I swear that I shall be the perfect gentleman. But don't be concerned if you don't see her for a day or so."

"Just make sure you behave," I said; "I won't have you ruining her and then casting her aside!"

"Madame, you wound me!" A hand clutched dramatically at his chest for a moment, before he dropped the mockery and said, in a serious tone, "I truly do care for her, Madame. I love her, and I fully intend to marry her. I give you my word that I will behave myself. And you will know where she is."

I searched his eyes for a long moment for any trace of deceit, but found none. "Very well. But if you must spirit her away for a day, then do so on a Saturday. She won't be missed on Sunday, not with the theatre dark. And let her get my costume to Adele, first! I don't want her in trouble for leaving it." _Nor me_, I added privately.

"Very well, Madame. On Saturday, Ariella shall meet the Ghost!" And with a swirl of his cape he was gone.

I sighed. Gerard did seem to very much enjoy the dramatic opportunities afforded by his new role. They really would get along _very_ well. Grinning, I climbed the rest of the way alone.


	6. The Tragedy

_Oh, noes, Gentle Reader! What terrible things might have occurred when a Sue was left alone with her Phantom..?_

* * *

Chapter Six: The Tragedy 

On Sunday the theatre was dark, as usual; I enjoyed a quiet day at home with my beloved husband, despite a faint nagging worry about my dresser. I hoped Gerard was behaving himself, and I desperately hoped that everything would work out as I hoped. Despite the irritation she tended to bring out in me, or perhaps because of it, I was eager to see her again and hear how things had gone.

However, when I opened the door of my dressing room to her the next afternoon, rather than the ebullient joy I had expected from her, she seemed subdued. She almost dragged herself across the threshold, with little more than a murmured "Ma'am," as I stepped aside.

"Ariella?" I asked, closing the door again as she crossed to the rack holding my costumes for the evening, "Are you quite well?"

She did not pause in her listless movements, nor turn to face me. "I'm fine, Madame," she said mechanically, sorting through for the first costume. "Thank you for asking."

I was growing concerned. Had Gerard . . . imposed upon her? Tried to take advantage of her? "Ariella," I lay a tentative hand upon her shoulder. "Has anything . . . happened?"

To my horror she turned and flung herself into my arms. "Oh, Madame!" she sobbed. "I—I just—I don't know what to _do_!"

I awkwardly patted her back and murmured shushing noises as I manoeuvred her towards the small sofa. I managed to disentangle myself as we sat, but she clutched at my hands like a drowning person. "What is it, Ariella?" I asked gently. "What happened?"

"Oh, Madame! It's just—It's just so _tragic_! I don't know what to _do_!"

I handed her my handkerchief. "Just start at the beginning," I told her. "Tell me what happened."

She wiped her eyes—she even wept prettily, I noted sourly, her face only flushing becomingly instead of turning all blotchy and red, as my own fair complexion did—and blew her nose delicately. "It's just—He just . . ." She trailed off into silence, staring at the crumpled hanky in her hands.

"The last time I saw you was after the performance on Saturday," I said firmly. She obviously needed help with her terrible story. "He left you another rose . . ?"

She smiled faintly. "It seems so long ago . . ." She sniffed a little, and straightened. "He took me to his lair, Madame," she said, finally meeting my gaze. "Oh! It was so _romantic_ . . ." She sighed, and her distant gaze swept around the room. "It was so misty, and lovely . . . He took my hand, and led me through endless corridors, down and down and down . . . And finally we came to his home." She sighed again. "It smells like sandalwood, you know, just like him. . . ." She sighed again. "He brought me into his home, and it was all just candles and swirling mists and rippling curtains—And he had a special bed for me, shaped like a swan! It was all hung about with black curtains. . . ."

"It sounds very romantic," I murmured encouragingly.

"Oh, it was! And there was another red rose lying right in the middle of the pillow." She sighed dreamily. "He sang to me, Madame, a lovely lullaby, and his voice! His voice is so lovely, so raw and passionate. . . . He sang to me, and I lay down on the bed and fell asleep. . . ."

"And then?"

"Well, I think it was morning when I awoke. It's so hard to tell, with no clocks or windows. . . ."

"I can imagine," I said. Actually, I knew from personal experience.

"I didn't know where he was, so I crept from the little curtained bed very quietly, in case he was sleeping somewhere. But he was awake. He was sitting at his organ, his back to me, idly touching the keys. I think he didn't want to wake me by actually playing anything. . . ." She paused, swallowed, and looked at her feet.

"Go on," I encouraged.

"Well, I—I don't really know why I did it. I mean, he's just so handsome, so appealing, that perhaps I thought that the mask was just for effect, you know, to frighten the ballet girls."

"What did you do, Ariella?"

She wouldn't meet my gaze. "Well, he was very absorbed in his thoughts. I didn't _really_ sneak up on him; it's not _my_ fault he didn't hear me. The carpets are very soft. . . ."

"What did you _do_, Ariella?" I repeated, more firmly.

"I . . . unmasked him."

I couldn't help it; I buried my face in my hand. The silly little idiot had ruined everything! She'd _never_ believe he was the dreaded Phantom now; no wonder she was so upset! Anyone would be, to find out they had been deceived like that. . . .

"No, no, Madame; it's not that bad, really! He was dreadfully upset, and at first all I could see was the hideous scar puckering his cheek, but then, when he calmed down a bit, I could see." Her eyes sparkled. "I could _see_, Madame! And I was right; he isn't hideous at all! But it's so _tragic_—" and her face crumpled again.

Good Lord. Did she honestly _still_ think he was the Phantom, even having seen beneath that ridiculous little mask? "Tragic, dear? I'm afraid I don't understand."

She sniffed, and made use of the hanky again. "He isn't—isn't hideous at all, Madame. Why, I doubt people would even turn to look in the streets. But—but he _believes_ himself to be so hideous that he's hidden himself away from the world. He said—" She hiccoughed. "He said even his mother had turned away from his hideousness, and threw him out of the house when he was a child. He's lived at the Opera ever since."

I hadn't known Gerard could be so creative. I would have to remember to ask him if his tale of woe had been crafted on the spur of the moment, or if he had carefully thought it out in advance. I also wondered if she had questioned, at all, where a man who had spent his entire life in the depths of the Opera's basements had obtained such a healthy tan.

"–Don't know what to _do_." I hadn't realized she was talking again.

"Well, what do you _want_ to do?"

"What do_I_—? Oh, Madame, I wouldn't even know where to begin!" She looked at me beseechingly.

I sighed. "Come now, Ariella," I said, feeling more and more as if I were dealing with a child, "Surely you must know what you would _like_ to have happen. If you close your eyes and dream of the future, what do you see?"

She closed her eyes, and smiled dreamily. "We have a lovely little cottage, near the ocean somewhere, and children. . . ."

"Then what you should do is marry him, move into a cottage near the ocean, and have children."

"Oh!" Her hands flew to her cheeks as she blushed becomingly. "Do you—Do you really _think_ . . ."

I smiled at her, and patted her knee. "I think that someday, with your love, he will feel comfortable enough and secure enough with you there beside him to walk in the sun shining on his bare face. And if he's really as handsome as you say, then perhaps he will even be able to appear in public."

"Oh, Madame! Thank you so much!" She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me uncomfortably hard. "That's _exactly_ what I will do! Oh, thank you so much! Oh! I need to go to him—"

"Well, I'm sure he will seek you out later," I assured her. "But right now I really need to get into my costume for the first act."

"Oh! I'm sorry, Madame!" And with the bubbly enthusiasm I had first expected from her, she swirled over to the rack.

"So," I asked a little while later, as she eased the gown over my head, "Was he very furious with you when you unmasked him?"

"Well, he did yell a bit," she admitted. "And he said that no one had ever seen him and lived, and that I would have to stay there as his prisoner forever. . . ."

I had to admit I was shocked. "He did? He actually tried to make you his prisoner?" I would have to have a word with Gerard about taking his role too seriously.

"Well. . . . Actually, the next thing he said was that he'd have to take me back before anyone missed me. I spent most of yesterday at home."

I stared at her. "Not much of a threat then," I said slowly. She said nothing, but grinned at me, a bit sheepishly.

"I honestly don't think he'd ever _really_ hurt anyone," she confided. "He's as gentle as a—as a lamb!"

"So not unless they really deserved it?" I grinned, reaching for the brush as she helped with the fastenings.

"Oh, well," she grinned back, "Maybe if they really, _really_ deserved it . . ."

And I think that, for that one brief moment, we were friends.

* * *

_A/N: Will Ariella and Gerard find happiness together? Will Ariella and Christine stay friends? Will Erik hear a rumour that Christine is messing around on him? Stay tuned to find out all this and more tomorrow in the final installment of Attack of the Sue!_


	7. The End

_At last, Dear Reader, we reach the end of the tale of Ariella, the tragic figure destined to find love! If you have enjoyed this (or not), please let me know! And for more stories with this Christine and Erik, check out the story of their meeting, in Through A Mirror, Darkly, and their adventure with M. Claudin in All Hallow's Eve._

_Hmm. There certainly do seem to be a lot of Ghost impersonators running about my Opera... I wonder if Erik isn't getting a bit fed up? _

* * *

Chapter Seven: The End 

"…Christine Daaé…"

A theatre, even one as large as the Palais Garnier, is like a city: there are always voices. Even in a small theatre, performers find quiet spots to hunch over a script and mumble their lines, stagehands enjoy a break and a smoke in some forgotten corner, trysts are kept.

In a theatre the size of the Garnier, there are so many, many more voices: ballet girls whispering to each other, firemen calling to each other on their rounds, the old door closers mumbling to themselves as they shut out the drafts that can harm a singer's delicate throat.

And like a city, the voices soften to a general hubbub, ignored as one ignores one's own heartbeat, save for the quiet depths of night.

Or when one hears one's own name.

Before I had even really realized that my name had been spoken, I had unconsciously stepped closer.

"But her voice… screechy… loud…" another voice complained, indistinctly.

Screechy? Loud? I glanced around. The corridor I was in was narrow and unadorned, but there was a properties room just ahead. Whoever it was, they surely must be in there. I hesitated a moment, torn between irritation and curiosity on the one hand, and the fear of being caught doing anything so low as eavesdropping on the other, before curiosity, or irritation, won out. As silently as I could, I crept closer.

"—of the purest voices around." Those gravely tones had to be Gerard, I was reasonably certain. I felt slightly mollified at his praise. "Besides, it's _opera_! That's what it's _supposed_ to sound like."

I suddenly felt less mollified.

"But I don't think I could _ever_ sing like that! I don't even know if I _want_ to sing like that." Was that—Ariella? I could almost hear the pout.

"I don't think you could, either. But _your_ voice…" Gerard's voice was so soft that I could barely hear it. He murmured something else, too low to hear, and I caught myself inching closer to the door way yet.

I stopped, blushing guiltily. If she were here with him, especially in this quiet side corridor, then she must be meeting with her Ghost. I crept away, not wanting to spy any further on the lovers.

I felt slightly queasy at the thought of spying on someone, _anyone_, even if they _were_ discussing me. But at the same time, I had to admit, I was hurt that she thought so little of my voice. I suppose that it was no surprise, then, that she had been so uninterested in the warm-ups I had had her do for her 'audition' for the Ghost. She must have been afraid that they would make _her_ voice too loud and screechy as well.

Loud?_ Screechy_?

I half-regretted my curiosity now. Certainly my irritation had not subsided. Well it was said, indeed, that those who eavesdrop rarely hear anything complimentary about themselves!

* * *

I was still a bit miffed when Ariella returned to my dressing room to gather up my costumes after that afternoon's dress rehearsal, but she seemed so subdued that my curiosity once again got the better of me. "Ariella?" I asked. "Is everything all right?"

She chewed her lip a moment before facing me. "I'm afraid…" She paused, lifted her head, a little, and began again. "I'm afraid, Madame, that I must be leaving you."

I eyed her slightly. "If you want the rest of the day off, Ariella, you have only to ask. I'm sure we can make alternate arrangements."

"No—No, Madame. No, I mean—I'm leaving. The Garnier. Forever."

I have to admit, my heart leapt at her words, although I tried to keep a calm mien. "Leaving? When? Why?"

"I—" She blushed. "I will never be an opera singer," she told her feet; "and I'm not sure that I _want_ to be an opera singer. It isn't—It isn't what I thought it would be."

She peeked at me and grinned slightly. "I don't think that I have the patience to work so hard for so little reward," she admitted. "And I don't—I like my voice the way it is." She blushed again, and grinned at her feet. "And—And so does _he_. We're leaving. Together."

"Oh, Ariella! That's wonderful!" I was genuinely happy for her; I couldn't resist giving her a hug and telling her so.

She clutched me tight for a moment. "Oh, Madame, I _am_ going to miss _you_, though!"

I smiled and stepped back as she quickly dashed the brief tears away. "I'm going to miss you too, Ariella!" I told her, and found, almost to my surprise, that it was true. "So, tell me all about it," I added, sitting on my sofa and patting the cushion next to me. "Where will you go? What are your plans?"

She almost bounced down next to me, her faced wreathed in bright smiles. "Well! It ends up that his father was a carpenter, so he knows the trade quite well. We're going to move to Normandy—I think he still has some family in the area—and find a quiet little cottage by the ocean." She squeezed my hand. "Oh! And I'll still sing—I love it, you know, even if I'm not opera material—But I can sing in the cáfès there, and bring in a few extra coins that way—At least until… You know. I can't." Her grin was slightly wicked. "And I'll sing in the choir on Sundays, of course, and he can open a small shop and build cabinets and beds and—and bassinets, and things…" She blushed again, and looked at her hands. "And someday I really think he'll be all right with leaving the mask off." She sighed, a little dreamily.

"That sounds wonderful," I told her, and it did. I thought of the pretty little cottage I shared with my own Opera Ghost, and the lovely garden, and couldn't help sighing a little too.

"When are you leaving?" I added after a quiet moment.

"In a few days time—perhaps the end of the week," she said. "I was all for leaving tonight, but he said he had arrangements to make, so…" She shrugged.

"It'll seem like forever, I know," I commiserated.

"Yes, but it'll be worth it, knowing that at the end of it, I'll spend eternity with _him_!"

She was looking into eternity, and didn't see me roll my eyes. Perhaps I wouldn't miss her _quite_ so much…

* * *

I was just locking the door of my dressing room behind me when Gerard wandered up. Well, perhaps _sauntered_ would be the better term. Even for Gerard, he looked unusually pleased with himself. "Hello, Gerard," I smiled at him. "Come to say goodbye?"

"She told you, did she?" His teeth flashed in the dim corridor as he grinned. "Yes; I ought to be able to get everything straightened out with the managers by Friday, I think. You know. Severance papers, all that."

"Of course." I grinned back at him, and allowed myself a small moment of satisfaction. "I'm very happy for you both. You have my best wishes in your new life."

"Well, we couldn't have done it without you. I don't know if I'll have a chance to see you again before we leave, so I just wanted to stop by and say goodbye. And thank you."

"Oh, Gerard, you're very welcome." A sudden thought struck. "You aren't going to return the mask, are you?"

"Well, I can't, not really. I have to keep wearing the bloody thing for at least a little while longer." He grinned again. "You should have seen her face when she snatched it off. I thought she was going to faint!" He chuckled. "I had to start shouting at her—I have no idea what I said—or I was going to hurt myself trying not to laugh! She looked so… so…" He gestured vaguely, still chuckling.

"Well, apparently you made it very believable," I giggled. "She was quite concerned for you, you know! I believe the word _tragedy_ was used…"

He laughed out loud at that. "Well, I'm glad I pulled it off, then. Ah, it'll be nice to go back home. I like it well enough here, but I do miss the ocean sometimes. The Seine's just not the same."

"You'll be marrying soon, then?"

"Yes, as soon as we arrive there, I think. Or perhaps we'll stop at a little church on the way…"

"She'll need a wedding dress, then."

"Um. Yes, I know."

"Do you know if she has anything yet?"

"Um. Well, I do, sort of…"

"Oh?" Curiosity bit me again. "May I see it?"

* * *

"See, the wig's all curly," he mumbled, not quite meeting my eyes as he threw back the veil, "But it's the darkest one I could find quickly. You know. That wasn't Egyptian. But I think the fit will be pretty good…" 

I forbade to remark on the mannequin he had dressed in the wedding ensemble, and I most especially did not ask him how he had managed to carry it all the way down here to his 'lair' without being seen. "It's… quite lovely," I said instead.

"You don't like it."

"No, I think it's quite lovely," I assured him.

"But it's not quite somehow right, is it?" he asked mournfully. "For her, I mean."

"It is a bit subdued," I admitted.

"Subdued! Yes! Of course it is!" His face brightened at once. "There _must_ be something else…"

I thought for a moment, and then smiled. "Do you remember the production we did of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_?" I asked.

"What, you mean the one with the boat?" he asked, glancing at the bed.

"No, the ballet. I think it was a few years before that one. Do you remember?"

"Um. Not really…"

"Titania's dress from the celebration at the end would be _perfect_."

"Well, then!" He offered me his arm with a small bow. "I insist that you guide me to it."

* * *

"Erik," I couldn't help twisting my handkerchief nervously as I approached him. I waited until he looked up from his book, and sank to my knees beside his chair. "You do know that I love you, don't you?" 

He regarded me fondly. "So you keep insisting," he smiled.

"And you know that I would never… step out on you."

He sighed. "Has this anything to do with that idiot dresser of yours?"

"Well… Indirectly…"

"You'd better tell me all about it, then."

I bit my lip, but told him of the engagement, and the subsequent discussion of an appropriate dress.

"And you were caught liberating it, I suppose?" he asked, somewhat wryly.

"No! No—Well, yes, the costume mistress did sort of—trap us in there. But Gerard managed to slip away behind her while I distracted her. I think he got away."

"Then I fail to see the problem."

"Well… I think… she thinks that I have a—a lover." I blushed, and gazed at my knotted hankie.

"Christine."

It was the Voice; I didn't need the slight pressure of his finger beneath my chin to feel compelled to raise my eyes to his. "Yes, Mast—Erik?" I winced at my slip. It was hard not to think of him as my tutor when he used the Voice.

"Open your eyes and look at me," he commanded softly.

I did so, and stared into his golden eyes, barely a foot from mine, for almost a full minute before he dropped my chin and his gaze.

"Do you see?" he asked me softly.

"See what?" I asked, confused.

"What did you see, when you looked at me?"

"You—My husband."

He sighed. "Even now, you don't flinch away from me," he said quietly. "You see me in all my hideous glory, and you are puzzled when I ask what you see. I know you haven't cuckolded me," he added, in something closer to his normal tone; "If nothing else, I know you have far higher standards."

I smiled at his own slightly wry grin, and dropped my gaze again.

"None of that," he commanded; "Come here!" He opened his arms wide, and I enthusiastically flung myself into his embrace. "Besides," he murmured against my hair, "I was there, at least for the mask. Did you really think I would let you wander about the Opera with that grinning booby unaccompanied?"

My only reply was to hug him tighter, relieved.

Much later that evening, when the conversation resumed, he asked me, "So, was it worth it?"

"Oh,_definitely_," I assured him, snuggling closer.

"No, not_that_." He kissed the top of my head. "The dress. Your reputation. Was it worth it?"

I sighed. "I'm not sure yet. I don't know how soiled my reputation is, yet. But it really is a lovely dress… all layers of pastel gauze, and the beaded bodice… Really, I'm sure she'll like it much better than the dress he had picked out for her."

"Plain, was it?"

"No, just ordinary."

"Ah." He paused a moment, then said, half to himself, "I think I shall have a word with the managers."

"But, Erik!" I sat up in horror. "No one's worn that dress in _years_; she'll never miss it—!"

He laughed, and pulled me back down. "No, silly goose," he said, kissing me again, "I mean about his severance. With a wife in the wings, I think I can persuade them to be a bit more generous than usual."

"You're sure? You'd do that for them? I though you didn't particularly like them?"

"I don't," he retorted. "But think of it as a wedding gift. From us."

"That's very sweet of you, love."

He snorted. "Anything to ensure that they never return!"

_Finis_

* * *

_So there you go! I hope you have enjoyed this little romp of nonsense. I'm reasonably sure we haven't seen the last of Erik and Christine. Ariella and Gerard, though, I think I will leave to their new life together. You all know how it ends, anyways: They get married in a lovely little church high on a wind-swept cliff, he goes back to work for his father, and they move into a lovely little cottage. When his father dies (peacefully, in his sleep), Gerard will take over the shop. The extra income will come in handy; Ariella is quite the hit at the cafes with her folksongs, and has many good friends (one of whom is probably named Meg) in the church choir, but will eventually have to stay home to attend to their numerous children, all of whom will inherit their parents' good looks and, luckily, not their singing talents. _

_Gerard will eventually have to add several bedrooms to house them all, and they will live together, simply and happily, well into old age._

_He won't ever tell her about the deception, though._

_Thank you for all the kind reviews! Every one brightens my day. _

_Cheers! Kryss _


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